


Turning White and Senses Dying

by brodinsons (aeon_entwined)



Series: Fruit of Eden [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 09:11:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2687252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeon_entwined/pseuds/brodinsons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ORIGINALLY POSTED: March 13, 2010</p>
<p>Sam's eyes are opened and the Devil makes a confession ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turning White and Senses Dying

The next time Lucifer shows up, it’s almost a month later. And they had just finished a rather exhausting and frustrating hunt for a reluctant-to-be-vanquished ghost. 

Dean is in the shower, grouching about generally everything. Castiel is sitting on the edge of the empty bed, looking almost bored, but Sam has definitely caught him staring in the direction of the bathroom every so often. 

_If Dean doesn’t yank his head out of his ass soon, I’m going to do it for him,_ Sam intones miserably to himself.

He’s currently splayed on the bed by the window, laptop on his extended legs and open to a page on archangel lore. Obsessed? No. Confused out of his wits? Yes. 

The unfortunate truth of the situation is he hasn’t found anything new. They’re basically the unofficial foremost experts on angels in the world, and he’s on Wikipedia reading about Lucifer’s Fall. There is _definitely_ something wrong with this picture.

Little does he know, the picture is about to get even more distorted.

With a flurry of wing beats, the aforementioned archangel is suddenly standing at the foot of his bed. Wearing what looks suspiciously like one of his flannel shirts.

Sam’s eyes go wide and he doesn’t even try to hide the undignified squeak as he snaps the laptop shut and almost flings it aside onto the mattress.

Castiel turns slightly, expression far too unreadable to be comforting. “Brother.” 

“Hello, Castiel,” the archangel responds, posture relaxed and oddly unthreatening. “You don’t mind if I borrow young Samuel for a few moments?”

The younger angel regards him carefully, his gaze shifting into that intense angelic I-can-kill-you-with-my-brain stare as Sam just gapes like a fish. Then, “You do not intend to harm him. I have no reason to stop you.”

“Cas!” Sam manages, scrambling to his feet on the opposite side of the bed and eliciting a curious look from the angel. “Y-you’re just letting him?!”

He knows his voice is cracking on every other syllable, but fuck … Dean’s guardian angel just told _Satan_ to go ahead and kidnap him. Surely something just went terribly amiss … right?

Then, Lucifer is right fucking there behind him, like he’d always been there, and the younger Winchester swallows audibly. 

“He will not harm you, Sam. That is not his intent.” Cas says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

_What the Hell? When did these two start working together?_

Then, there’s a hand on his shoulder and he whips around, literally nose-to-nose with the archangel.

“I said I would show you, but only if you wish to see.” Lucifer’s voice is just as soft and reserved as usual, almost comforting. 

Sam gives him a calculating look, weighing the options, sizing him up. Then, he frowns. “How am I even supposed to trust you?”

A brief flicker of pain passes over the archangel’s features, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. “My intent is not to harm you. I have not lied to you yet, Sam.”

And there, there it fucking is. Shoe, meet floor. 

Angels can’t lie. They can bend the truth all they want, but they can’t lie. Lucifer; Prince of Demons, Father of Lies, is certainly no demon. And he is still very much an archangel, regardless of how tarnished his Grace has been rendered thanks to the Pit. 

He even said once “I will never lie to you” … as if that wasn’t proof enough. 

So, what else is there to say?

When there’s a creature powerful enough to decimate the world ten times over if he wished it holding your arm, there isn’t much in the way of choices.

“Ok … show me.”

+++++++++++

The moment the archangel’s fingertips brushed his temple, everything went black. And there isn’t anything. No physical world, nothing to hold onto. For a moment, Sam panics. _Shit! I didn’t say yes, did I?! Shitshitshit!_

Then, as if sensing his distress, an obscure form suddenly wraps around him. _You’re still very much you, Sam … we are merely traveling through my mind._

Quietly startled by the familiar voice, and oddly comforted, the younger Winchester falls silent, pressing slightly against the form wrapped around him. A soft noise reverberates in the surrounding space, surprised but just slightly amused. _This is my Grace, Sam … everything I have been and everything I ever will be._

The hunter doesn’t quite know what to say to that, and doesn’t say anything. Instead, he starts focusing on the kaleidoscope of Light and Form gyrating around him … them. 

Then, everything comes to an abrupt halt. If he actually had a physical body still, he would’ve been flailing for the nearest solid object to grab onto. But now, there’s no need. Instead, he stares in utter shock at the scene unraveling before him.

It’s bright, too bright. And everything is sharper now, clearer. There aren’t any clouds, or rapturous choirs, or golden halos. It’s just … eternity. Stretched out beyond imagining, nothing and everything at the same time. 

_Is this … is this …_ he can’t seem to finish the thought.

_This is Heaven … this is where I first came into existence, where I grew beside my brothers, and where I was cast from for my choices._ came the voice.

For some reason, Sam can’t talk. He can’t think, he can’t talk, and he can’t even think about moving.

It’s too much, too real, too soon. 

_There is Michael …_

Sam startles violently, then snaps his gaze upward, focusing on the blindingly white burst of Light and Form. The figure is vaguely human, but almost completely other. And there is something distinctly melancholy about him.

The First Son’s posture isn’t rigid or confident, but rather almost slumped, defeated. His Grace flares again, too hot and too bright and Sam looks away.

_He is mourning._

_Mourning … what, why?_

_My brother is mourning for what once was. For what we had so long ago._

Sam falls silent at that, just watching the archangel. He wonders what it would be like to be forced to cast your own brother away, to seal his fate and condemn him. Then, he shudders as he realizes just how close both he and Dean came to that very situation.

_There is the reason you are the Chosen Ones, Sam … we are not so different, you and I._

_Maybe. Aren’t you supposed to be showing me what’s changed?_

There is a soft chuckle, almost a sigh it’s so quiet, that travels over him.

_I brought you here to show you what I have seen. You showed me how to feel, Sam. That is something angels are, by creed, unable to do. I was … fearful. So, I went to you in an attempt to see if it was indeed possible. I left because I was wary, unsure. I traveled for a long while, seeking a solution to the doubt. Then, I reached out to Heaven, to the singular being I still trust. And this is what I found._

There’s only silence from the hunter, and Lucifer continues, their surroundings once again beginning to blur together.

_I found loss, mourning, regret. I found everything I never believed could still exist there. And I came to realize … that we are not perfect. Nothing is perfection, and nothing ever can be. Father knew this, ensured it, but wished us to discover it on our own. I … cannot say I am not frustrated with Him … but I am also grateful. Grateful that, regardless of His absence, He has deigned me worthy enough to learn this lesson. From the very beings I once condemned. From you._

Sam attempts to inhale a breath, but finds there’s nothing there. Nothing to ground him, nothing to hold fast to. He’s falling, falling faster than he can ever remember. Lucifer’s voice is still in his ear; quiet and almost protective.

_There is much I still must do … but I won’t be far._

_Where are you?_

_Here, Sam … I am here._

Then, in a brilliant flare of Light, and Power, and Grace, it’s over. Everything suddenly turns too bright and too sharp and Sam wakes up gasping, spread-eagled on his bed.

“Sammy!” Dean’s voice is simultaneously relieved and wracked with worry.

Sam blinks his eyes open and he inhales another gulp of oxygen, his body twitching as though in the after-effects of a lightning strike.

“Sammy, you ok?” Dean’s hand is cradling his head, the other carefully holding a glass of water while Castiel looks on in the background, both concerned and intrigued.

The younger Winchester groans unhappily, then gratefully accepts the water, sipping it slowly. 

“I’m fine … I think.”

Dean snorts, relief flooding his features for a few brief moments. “Good to hear. You had us a little freaked there for a while.”

“What was I doing?”

With a shrug, the elder Winchester raises an eyebrow. “Well, I got out of the shower and you were flat out on the bed, muttering about Heaven and angels and lots of other stuff even Cas didn’t get.”

Sam winces at that, suddenly realizing that Lucifer had departed a very long time ago, but they had still continued their mutual revelation.

“Huh … yeah.” He coughs quietly, placing the glass on the nightstand. “Lucifer said he needed to show me something last time … so when he randomly showed up today, I told him to hurry up with it. Cas said it was ok,” he sends a pointed glance in the angel’s direction. “So everything’s fine. I’m good.”

There’s another one of those _I call bullshit_ looks forming on Dean’s face and Sam quickly halts that process with a glare and a bitchface to top it off.

“I’m _fine_ , Dean. Just leave it.”

The elder Winchester holds up his hands and backs off, standing up and moving towards the door. “Alright then. I’m out for some beer … want anything, Sammy?”

“Bring me some too.”

Dean raises an eyebrow at that, but doesn’t remark, merely gestures for Cas to follow him and as the door clicks into place, Sam in once again alone in the motel room.

He slings both legs over the edge of the mattress and leans his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands.

“Christ …”


End file.
